Creeping Fog (The On Little Cat Feet Remix)
Title: Creeping Fog (The On Little Cat Feet Remix)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Character: Minerva McGonagall
Time Frame: post-Deathly Hallows
Spoilers: none (though the original fic is)
Synopsis: She's just as old a cat as she is a woman. But the little body carries it better somehow.
Word Count: 164
Rating: PG
Warning: angst, unbeta'd
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the characters and settings therein are the property of J. K. Rowling, and are used here entirely without permission but entirely with respect. This is for love, not for money.
Author's Notes: Remix of Creeping Mist by trialia
The cat sleeps, curled in a ball. No one else is in the room, and an unobservant visitor might think it empty, or at least certainly devoid of the room's owner.
Soon the cat wakes, and stretches - then yowls slightly in pain. The feline bones creak with age that is settling on the small frame as assuredly as the dust curling around the room settles on the cold stone floor.
The cat washes herself, and then rises, taking care of as much of her daily routine as she can padding around the room on silent - but still aching - paws.
Finally she can put it off no longer and in place of the cat there stands a woman; steel-grey hair atop ancient-parchment skin where before was fur. Only the glittering hardness of the emerald eyes remains unchanged.
She's just as old a cat as she is a woman. But the little body carries it better somehow.
Death walks softly as a cat.
This idea is something that's always fascinated me about her - and the other animagi. Trialia's story just added a new twist on it I couldn't resist exploring. I've always wanted to write McGonagall fic, and now I have. ^_^
Fandom: Harry Potter
Character: Minerva McGonagall
Time Frame: post-Deathly Hallows
Spoilers: none (though the original fic is)
Synopsis: She's just as old a cat as she is a woman. But the little body carries it better somehow.
Word Count: 164
Rating: PG
Warning: angst, unbeta'd
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the characters and settings therein are the property of J. K. Rowling, and are used here entirely without permission but entirely with respect. This is for love, not for money.
Author's Notes: Remix of Creeping Mist by trialia
The cat sleeps, curled in a ball. No one else is in the room, and an unobservant visitor might think it empty, or at least certainly devoid of the room's owner.
Soon the cat wakes, and stretches - then yowls slightly in pain. The feline bones creak with age that is settling on the small frame as assuredly as the dust curling around the room settles on the cold stone floor.
The cat washes herself, and then rises, taking care of as much of her daily routine as she can padding around the room on silent - but still aching - paws.
Finally she can put it off no longer and in place of the cat there stands a woman; steel-grey hair atop ancient-parchment skin where before was fur. Only the glittering hardness of the emerald eyes remains unchanged.
She's just as old a cat as she is a woman. But the little body carries it better somehow.
Death walks softly as a cat.
This idea is something that's always fascinated me about her - and the other animagi. Trialia's story just added a new twist on it I couldn't resist exploring. I've always wanted to write McGonagall fic, and now I have. ^_^